Jingo d-21 Read online

  “Commander Vimes?”

  The watchmen looked round. Vimes narrowed his eyes.

  “You're one of Rust's men, aren't you?”

  The young man saluted.

  “Lieutenant Hornett, sir.” He hesitated. “Er… his lordship has sent me to ask you if you and your senior officers would be so good as to come to the palace at your convenience, sir.”

  “Really? Those were his words?”

  The lieutenant decided that honesty was the only policy.

  “In fact he said, ‘Get Vimes and his mob up here right now,’ sir.”

  “Oh, did he?” said Vimes.

  “Bingeley-bingeley beep!” said a small triumphant voice from his pocket. “The time is eleven pee em precisely!”

  The door opened before Nobby knocked, and a small stout woman glared out at him.

  “Yes, I am!” she snapped.

  Nobby stood with his hand still raised. “Er… are you Mrs Cake?” he said.

  “Yes, but I don't hold with doing it except for money.”

  Nobby's hand did not move.

  “Er… you can tell the future, right?” said Nobby.

  They stared at one another. Then Mrs Cake thumped her own ear a couple of times, and blinked.

  “Drat! Left my precognition on again.” Her gaze unfocused for a moment as she replayed the recent conversation in the privacy of her head.

  “I think we're sorted out,” she said. She looked at Nobby and sniffed. “You'd better come in. Mind the carpet, it's just been washed. And I can only give you ten minutes 'cos I've got cabbage boilin'.”

  She led Corporal Nobbs into her tiny front room. A lot of it was occupied by a round table covered with a green cloth. There was a crystal ball on the table, not very well covered by a pink knitted lady in a crinoline dress.

  Mrs Cake motioned Nobby to sit down. He obediently did so. The smell of cabbage drifted through the room.

  “A bloke in the pub told me about you,” Nobby mumbled. “Said you do mediuming.”

  “Would you care to tell me your problem?” said Mrs Cake. She looked at Nobby again and, in a state of certainty that had nothing to do with precognition and everything to do with observation, added: “That is, which of your problems do you want to know about?”

  Nobby coughed. “Er… it's a bit… you know… intimate. Affairs of the heart, sort of thing.”

  “Are women involved?” said Mrs Cake cautiously.

  “Er… I hope so. What else is there?”

  Mrs Cake visibly relaxed.

  “I just want to know if I'm going to meet any,” Nobby went on.

  “I see.” Mrs Cake gave a kind of facial shrug. It wasn't up to her to tell people how to waste their money. “Well, there's the tenpenny future. That's what you see. And there's the ten-dollar future. That's what you get.”

  “Ten dollars? That's more'n a weeks pay! I'd better take the tenpenny one.”

  “A very wise choice,” said Mrs Cake. “Give me your paw.”

  “Hand,” said Nobby.

  “That's what I said.”

  Mrs Cake examined Nobby's outstretched palm while taking care not to touch it.

  “Are you going to moan and roll your eyes and stuff?” said Nobby, a man out to get his tenpenn'orth.

  “I don't have to take cheek,” said Mrs Cake, without looking up. “That sort of—”

  She peered closer, and then gave Nobby a sharp look.

  “Have you been playing with this hand?”

  “Pardon?”

  Mrs Cake whipped the crinoline lady off the crystal and glared into the depths. After a while she shook her head.

  “I don't know, I'm sure… oh, well.” She cleared her throat and spoke in a more sibyllic voice. “Mr Nobbs, I see you surrounded by dusky ladies in a hot place. Looks a bit foreign to me. They're laughing and chatting with you… in fact, one of them's just handed you a drink…”

  “None of 'em are shouting or anything?” said Nobby, mystified.

  “Doesn't look like it,” said Mrs Cake, equally fascinated. “They seem quite happy.”

  “You can't see any… magnets?”

  “What're they?”

  “Dunno,” Nobby admitted. “I 'spect you'd know 'em if you saw 'em.”

  Mrs Cake, despite a certain rigidity of character, couldn't help but be aware of a drift in Nobby's speculation.

  “Some of the ladies look… nubile,” she hinted.

  “Ah, right,” said Nobby, his expression not changing in any way.

  “If you understand what I mean…”

  “Right. Yes. Nubile. Right.”

  Mrs Cake gave up. Nobby counted out ten pennies.

  “And that'll be soon, will it?” said Nobby.

  “Oh yes. I can't see very far for tenpence.”

  “Happy young ladies…” mused Nobby. “Nubile, too. Definitely something to think about.”

  After he'd gone, Mrs Cake went back to her crystal and sneaked a whole ten dollars' worth of precognition for her own curiosity and satisfaction, and laughed about it all afternoon.

  Vimes was only half surprised when the doors to the Rats Chamber opened and there, sitting at the head of the table, was Lord Rust. The Patrician wasn't there.

  He was half surprised. That is, at a certain shallow level he thought, that's odd, I thought you couldn't budge the man with a siege weapon. But at a dark level, where the daylight seldom penetrated, he thought: of course. At a time like this men like Rust rise to the top. It's like stirring a swamp with a stick. Really big bubbles are suddenly on the surface and there's a bad smell about everything. Nevertheless, he saluted and said:

  “Lord Vetinari on his holidays, then?”

  “Lord Vetinari stepped down this evening, Vimes,” said Lord Rust. “Pro tem, of course. Just for the duration of the emergency.”

  “Really?” said Vimes.

  “Yes. And I have to say that he anticipated a certain… cynicism on your part, commander, and therefore asked me to give you this letter. You will see that it is sealed with his seal.”

  Vimes looked at the envelope. There was certainly the official seal in the wax, but—

  He met Lord Rust's gaze and at least that suspicion faded. Rust wouldn't try a trick like that. Men like Rust had a moral code of sorts, and some things weren't honourable. You could own a street of crowded houses where people lived like cockroaches and the cockroaches lived like kings and that was perfectly OK, but Rust would probably die before he'd descend to forgery.

  “I see, sir,” said Vimes. “You wanted me?”

  “Commander Vimes, I must ask you to take the Klatchians resident in the city into custody.”

  “On what charge, sir?”

  “Commander, we are on the verge of war with Klatch. Surely you understand?”

  “No, sir.”

  “We are talking about spying, commander. Sabotage, even,” said Lord Rust. “To be frank… the city is to be placed under martial law.”

  “Yessir? What kind of law's that, sir?” said Vimes, staring straight ahead.

  “You know very well, Vimes.”

  “Is it the kind where you shout ‘Stop!’ before you fire, sir, or the other kind?”

  “Ah. I see.” Rust stood up and leaned forward.

  “It pleased you to be… smart with Lord Vetinari, and for some reason he indulged you,” he said. “I, on the other hand, know your type.”

  “My type?”

  “It seems to me that the streets are full of crimes, commander. Unlicensed begging, public nuisances… but you seem to turn a blind eye, you seem to think you should have bigger ideas. But you are not required to have big ideas, commander. You are a thief-taker, nothing more. Are you eyeballing me, Vimes?”

  “I was trying not to turn a blind eye, sir.”

  “You seem to feel, Vimes, that the law is some kind of big glowing light in the sky which is not subject to control. And you are wrong. The law is what we tell it to be. I'm not going to add ‘Do you underst
and?’ because I know you understand and I am not going to try to reason with you. I know a rank bad hat when I see one.”

  “Bad hat?” said Vimes weakly.

  “Commander Vimes,” he said, “I had hoped to avoid this, but the last few days point to a succession of astonishing judgemental errors on your part. The Prince Khufurah was shot, and you seemed helpless to prevent this or find the criminal responsible. Mobs appear to run around the city unimpeded, I gather that one of your sergeants proposed to shoot innocent people in the head, and we have just heard that you took it upon yourself to arrest an innocent businessman and lock him in the cells for no reason at all.”

  Vimes heard Colon gasp. But it sounded a long way off. He could feel everything crumbling under him, but his mind seemed to be flying now, flapping through a pink sky where nothing mattered very much.

  “Oh, I don't know about that, sir,” he said. “He was guilty of repeatedly being Klatchian, wasn't he? Don't you want me to do that to all of 'em?”

  “And if this was not enough,” Rust went on, “we are told, and in other circumstances I would find this very hard to believe, even of a counter-jumper like you, that earlier tonight you, being quite unprovoked, assaulted two Klatchian guards, trespassed on Klatchian soil, entered the women's quarters, abducted two Klatchians from their beds, ordered the destruction of Klatchian property and… well, frankly, acted quite disgracefully.”

  What is the point of arguing? Vimes thought. Why play cards with a shaved deck?{51} And yet…

  “Two Klatchians, sir?”

  “It seems Prince Khufurah has been kidnapped, Vimes. I find it hard to believe that even you would attempt that, but the Klatchians seem to be suggesting this. You were seen entering their property illegally. And you appear to have dragged a helpless lady from her bed. What have you got to say about that?”

  “It was on fire at the time, sir.”

  Lieutenant Hornett stepped forward and whispered something. Lord Rust subsided a bit.

  “All right. Very well. There were perhaps mitigating circumstances, but politically it was a most ill-advised action, Vimes. I cannot pretend to know what has happened to the Prince, but frankly you seem to have taken a positive delight in making matters worse.”

  Can you climb, Mr Vimes? Vimes said nothing. The other man had been carrying something bulky over his shoulder…

  “You are removed from authority, commander. And the Watch will come under the direct command of this council. Is that understood?”

  Rust turned to Carrot. “Captain Carrot, many of us here have heard… good reports about you, and by due authority I hereby appoint you acting Commander of the Watch—”

  Vimes shut his eyes.

  Carrot saluted smartly. “No! Sir!”

  Vimes opened his eyes wide.

  “Really?” Rust stared at Carrot for a few moments, and then gave a little shrug.

  “Ah, well… loyalty is a fine thing. Sergeant Colon?”

  “Sir!”

  “In the circumstances, and since you are the most experienced noncommissioned officer and have an exemp— and have a military record, you will take command of the Watch for the duration of the… emergency.”

  “Nossir!”

  “That was an instruction, sergeant.”

  Beads of sweat began to form on Colon's brow. “Nossir!”

  “Sergeant!”

  “You can put it where the sun does not shine, sir!” said Colon desperately.

  Once again, Vimes saw Rust's milky-blue stare. Rust never looked surprised. And since he knew that a mere sergeant would never dare offer cheeky defiance, he erased Sergeant Colon from the immediate universe.

  The gaze turned briefly to Detritus.

  And he doesn't know how to speak to a troll, Vimes thought. And he was once again impressed, in the same dark way, by the manner in which Rust dealt with the problem. He dealt with it by making it not be there.

  “Who is the senior corporal in the Watch, Sir Samuel?”

  “That would be Corporal Nobbs.”

  The committee went into a huddle. There was a rush of whispering, in which the words “—an absolute little tit—” could be heard several times. Finally Rust looked up again.

  “And the next in seniority?”

  “Let me see… that would be Corporal Stronginthearm,” said Vimes. He felt oddly light-headed.

  “Perhaps he is a man who can take orders.”

  “He's a dwarf, you idiot!”

  Not a muscle moved on Rust's face. There was a clink as Vimes's badge was set neatly on the table.

  “I don't have to take this,” Vimes said calmly.

  “Oh, so you'd rather be a civilian, would you?”

  “A watchman is a civilian, you inbred streak of piss!”

  Rust's brain erased the sounds that his ears could not possibly have heard.

  “And the keys to the armoury, Sir Samuel,” he said.

  They jangled as they landed on the table.

  “And do the rest of you have any empty gestures to make?” said Lord Rust.

  Sergeant Colon took his grimy badge out of his pocket and was a little disappointed that it didn't make a defiant tinkle when he threw it on the table but instead bounced and smashed the water jug.

  “I got my badge carved on my arm,” Detritus rumbled. “Someone c'n try an' take it off if dey likes.”

  Carrot laid his badge down very carefully.

  Rust raised his eyebrows. “You too, captain?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I would have thought that you at least—”

  He stopped and looked up in annoyance as the doors opened. A couple of the palace guards ran in, with a group of Klatchians behind them.

  The council got to their feet in a hurry.

  Vimes recognized the Klatchian in the centre of the group. He'd seen him around at official functions and, if it hadn't been for the fact that the man was a Klatchian, would have marked him down as a shifty piece of work.

  “Who's he?” he whispered to Carrot.

  “Prince Kalif.{52} He's the deputy ambassador.”

  “Another prince?”

  The man came to a halt in front of the table, glanced at Vimes with no show of recognition and bowed to Lord Rust.

  “Prince Kalif,” said Lord Rust. “Your arrival is unannounced but nevertheless—”

  “I have grave news, my lord.” Even in his stunned state, a part of Vimes registered that the voice was different. Khufurah had learned his second language on the street, but this one had had tutors.

  “At a time like this, what news isn't?” said Rust.

  “There have been developments on the new land. Regrettable incidents. And indeed in Ankh-Morpork, too.” He glanced at Vimes again. “Although here, I must say, reports are confused. Lord Rust, I have to tell you we are, technically, at war.”

  “Technically at war?” said Vimes.

  “I am afraid events are carrying us forward,” said Kalif. “The situation is delicate.”

  They know they're going to fight, Vimes thought. This is just like the start of a dance, where you hang around looking at your partner…

  “I must tell you that you are being given twelve hours to remove all your citizens from Leshp,” said Kalif. “If that is done, matters will be happily resolved. For the present.”

  “Our response is that you have twelve hours to quit Leshp,” said Rust. “If that is not done, then we will take… steps…”

  Kalif bowed slightly. “We understand one another. A formal document will be with you shortly and, no doubt, we will be receiving one from you.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Here, hang on, you can't just—” Vimes began.

  “Sir Samuel, you are no longer Commander of the Watch and you have no place at these proceedings,” said Rust sharply. He turned back to the Prince.

  “It is unfortunate that things have come to this,” he said stiffly.

  “Indeed. But there comes a time when words are no lo
nger sufficient.”

  “I must agree with you. And then it is time to test one's strength.”

  Vimes stared in fascinated horror from one face to the other.

  “We will, of course, allow you time to quit your embassy. Such of it as remains.”

  “So kind. And of course we will extend to you the same courtesy.” Kalif bowed slightly.

  So did Rust.

  “After all, just because our countries are at war is no reason why we should not respect one another as friends,” said Lord Rust.

  “What? Yes, it bloody well is!” said Vimes. “I can't believe this! You can't just stand there and… good grief, whatever happened to diplomacy?”

  “War, Vimes, is a continuation of diplomacy by other means,”{53} said Lord Rust. “As you would know, if you were really a gentleman.”

  “And you Klatchians are as bad,” Vimes went on. “It's that green mouldy mutton Jenkins sells. You've all got Foaming Sheep Disease.{54} You can't just stand there and—”

  “Sir Samuel, you are, as you are at pains to point out, a civilian,” said Rust. “As such, you have no place here!”

  Vimes didn't bother with a salute but just turned away and walked out of the room. The rest of the squad followed him in silence back to Pseudopolis Yard.

  “I told him he could put it where the sun didn't shine,” said Sergeant Colon, as they crossed the Brass Bridge.

  “That's right,” said Vimes woodenly. “Well done.”

  “Right to his face. ‘Where the sun don't shine.’ Just like that,” said Colon. It was a little difficult to tell from his tone whether this was a matter of pride or dread.

  “I'm afraid Lord Rust is technically correct, sir.” said Carrot.

  “Really.”

  “Yes, Mr Vimes. The safety of the city is of paramount importance, so in times of war the civil power is subject to military authority.”

  “Hah.”

  “I told him,” said Fred Colon. “Right where the sun does not shine, I said.”

  “The deputy ambassador didn't mention Prince Khufurah,” said Carrot. “That was odd.”

  “I'm going home,” said Vimes.

  “We're nearly there, sir.” said Carrot.

  “I mean home home. I need some sleep.”

  “Yes, sir. What shall I tell the lads, sir?”